


What's Underneath

by Nary



Category: Firefly
Genre: Crossdressing, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-30
Updated: 2010-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-13 11:26:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little coda to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/80759">There Must Have Been a Moment of Truth</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Underneath

Simon's all got up in one of Inara's fancy dresses, long wig and makeup (it's a long story as to why), and suddenly Mal can't take his eyes off him. Never paid him much mind before, least not that way, but the doc knows how to move those slim hips when he walks. Or runs, as the case may be, because the Alliance are about two steps behind them and Mal has no gorram idea why he's watching that perfect, silk-cradled ass instead of worrying about maybe dyin' today, but there it is. The prospect of imminent death has a way of focusing the mind.

So they make it back to Serenity, and once his heart has a chance to crawl down out of his throat, and he's dealt with Jayne's latest bout of congenital idiocy, they're finally alone. And they're sort of eyeing one another, awkward-like, and Mal gets the idea that Simon doesn't mind his eyes on him, maybe wouldn't mind his hands there either. He's not inclined to dance around the subject just now, so he tells him flat-out. "I figure I might like to find out what you got on under that dress, if you were willin'."

Simon's blushing, but he nods. "If you stopped by my quarters later, you could get your chance."

So that's how, once everyone else is suitably distracted, Mal finds himself knocking on Simon's door, opening it up and slipping inside. The doctor's got the wig off, scrubbed away most of the red lipstick, and for a moment Mal's disappointed, but he hides it well enough. "I left the dress on," says Simon shyly, "so you could take it off."

Mal's so gorram hard he'd like to just tear the thing to pieces, but it's Inara's and he's not sure if she's expecting it back, and that might get tricky to explain. So he fiddles with the clasp at the back of the neck, unties the broad blue sash about the waist and lays it aside carefully, then peels the lissome fabric away and finds out what he'd been wondering all day.

Underneath, Simon's wearing a peachy-pink bra, stuffed with… silk stockings? and a pair of panties to match. They're not lacy, like Mal had kinda hoped they might be, but silky-smooth and tight. Probably when the doc was soft, they'd kept everything held in pretty tight, no telltale bulges under the gown, but now... now they're stretched to bursting, taut over Simon's hard, half-bent cock. There's already a wet spot spreading at the tip, telling eloquently of his need.

Mal slides his hand down over the doc's belly, baby-fine trail of hair and flat muscles, but he makes himself wait to go under the panties. Instead, he grips him over-top of them, silky against his fingers, burning hot and rigid beneath. Simon groans, pushing back against him, letting that gorgeous ass grind against Mal's hipbones, and Mal can't make himself wait any longer. He slips one finger under the waistband, springs Simon to a blessed freedom that makes them both gasp, and curls his fingers around him, cradling his cock tighter than those panties ever did.

It feels strange in his hand, unfamiliar, but when Simon rocks back against him, skin sliding loose and pulling taut again, it all comes back to him. Mal strokes him slow at first, letting his head rest against the doc's, and finds he can still smell Inara's perfume on his skin. It's distracting, muddling him up like so many other things have the power to do these days. He cups one of those fake breasts experimentally, but it doesn't feel anything like what he wants right now – not woman-flesh, but a flat, hard chest and the flat little brown bud of a nipple he knows is there. He fumbles underneath the padding until he finds it, pinches it tight, and Simon bucks his hips, spurting over his captain's fingers as he chokes out his name, hoarse and husky. Mal's thankful that it doesn't sound the least bit like her voice.


End file.
